


Everybody has a dark side... (Vox Demonica)

by silver_tongued_drake



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Blood and Violence, Explicit Language, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-07-29 12:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7685239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_tongued_drake/pseuds/silver_tongued_drake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A compilation of one-shots based on artwork done by americankimchi on tumblr surrounding the theme of a demonified Vox Machina. The twins use their shared skills for crossroad deals; Grog becomes a demonic embodiment of Wrath; Percy rules over Whitestone as its vampiric watcher; Keyleth is progressing through her Ara'mente, a journey to make sure the natural flow of things continue the way it is meant to be which includes death; Scanlan the skinwalker lures his victims with a charm-filled evening before preying on them; and Pike follows in her great grandfather's footstep as a powerful necromancer</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sharp words and sharper blades

**Author's Note:**

> After finding art work on tumblr by americankimchi about a "Vox Demonica", I felt inspired and asked permission to write about her ideas, expand them a little, and simply play with them. Here are the results, and I hope you enjoy them!  
> I own nothing, the characters are creations of the players of Critical Role and the theme was an idea of americankimchi found on tumblr

It was just so hard. SO DAMN HARD. How could you expect to continue this way when you had nothing left to continue for? Gods damn it… Or rather, Gods be damned. He prayed, yes, like a good devoted son but where the hell did that take him! Walking on the country road side, the city walls far behind, with a liquor bottle in one hand and frustrated tears cracking his skin. He didn’t wanna think about it anymore. Not tonight, and not tomorrow if he has it his way. Not ever.

He misses his footing and stumbles face first into the dirt and rocks of the ground. He grunts and groans until it turns to whimpering and more crying. That’s it; he was at his lowest and he didn’t care one bit. Let the Devil come! Either end him now or change his life for the better, he didn’t care. 

A small light suddenly appears in his vision and he must sloppily raise one arm instinctively. It becomes brighter and brighter and is accompanied by a few rushing footsteps. Had his prayers finally been answered? No… Just a lantern. Three figures: two people and an animal.

The lantern light came closer and closer till he was able to make out the person holding it. A woman. Long black hair pulled in a braid and angular features. Simple clothing: tight black pants, a deep blue shirt, bracelets along her arms, and black leather boots. She was a beautiful gal, as far as he could tell. She crunched down next to him.

“Need a little help, my friend?”, her voice was a like a deep honey. It felt like a smooth ointment over his wounds and he immediately was tranced by her dark brown eyes. He was still desperate, but he felt calm within. He let out a small ‘yes’ and almost immediately a second pair of hands wrapped around his torso and helped him up. A man this time, and obviously the woman’s twin. Same angular features, same long black hair (though his was in a pony tail that cascaded down his back). He wore a dark leather jacket over a black shirt and dark pants. He also wore a few bracelets of his own. His eyes felt piercing as he smiled comfortably at him, though it almost seemed to be mocking instead. But he didn’t dwell on it long before the woman spoke again. 

“You look in a rough shape, my friend. We’ll help you get out of it. My name is Vex’halia and this is Vax’hildan, we’ll be your friends”, her voice creeped within his mind so elegantly, all he could do was smile like an idiot and say ‘thank you’ weakly. He vaguely takes note of the massive dog following them as they walk back towards the small forest clumps farther away from the city. He learns from his beautiful saviour that it was named Trinket and that he was her hunting dog. She talks throughout most of the way to their cottage, now coming into view, while her brother helps him stay up even if halfway through the journey he manages to walk by himself now, but he didn’t mind the touch of a friendly (and handsome, if he was true to himself) man. 

The rest of the night felt hazy. The cottage was comfortable. A meal was served, he thinks. And talking. Lots, and lots, and lots of talking. At first from him, rambling on about the unfairness of life and his problems, and of course what lead him to be walking away from the city half drunk and crying. The twins sympathized with him and he was so thankful. They didn’t share any of their stories, but it didn’t bother him. They said they were hunters, collecting very precious prizes amongst various cities over the years. Trinket had picked up the smell of such prize and they found him. He remembers sweet words, soft hands, maybe a caress or two from one twin (he doesn’t know which)… Then he remembers Vex’halia’s voice right next to his ear, promising him something better in life then this dump. Years of wealth and comfort for himself and whomever he which for the next decade. Fancy clothes, women at his knees, free-flowing wine, roasted pig every nights till his death. All the things he had wished for and more. But there was a prize, the prize they hunted for in their journeys… Both twins were in front of him now, their faces juxtaposed like a mirror image. Their sharp elven features seemed to grow a little more angular than before, brown eyes now swirling with black clouds over them, and the blurry shape of something like horns sprouting out of their black manes… But their voices like honey, overlapping one another with the dreams and wishes he never spoke of before, with their only demands being the humble request of his soul. He remembers protesting slightly at the idea, but almost immediately their voices appeased him once more. Life was unfair, so how could Death be any different? With his soul in their gentle hands, they could save him from the unfairness of it all, in Life and Death. 

And so, with that, he let out another weak ‘yes’ before blackness consumed him.

He woke up within his bed and, for the rest of the week, he truly believed his encounter with the twins to have simply been a dream. Exactly a week after however, a knock on his door came around mid-morning. Apparently a dying lord within the city had written in his will that all of his property and riches were to be all passed down to him, to the last copper. Within the following month, he became a new man. 

He didn't forget about the twins, and on many occasions he tried to look for them. He went back personally to where he remembered their cottage to be but where once stood proudly a warm housing within a clearing now held nothing at all. He wanted to thank them of course, but a small piece within him trembled at the memory of their honeyed voices and dark hair. Maybe it was for the best that he couldn't find them... He eventually came to the decision that he would try to forget.

The next few years were the best of his life. He drank, ate, whored at his will and he never seemed to run out of money. Random donations were made to his domain anonymously or he would happen to stumble on a bank surplus, etc. He eventually married a beautiful (though not exceedingly bright) woman whose father died shortly afterwards and left a generous heritage.  
But everything seemed... off. His wife loved him too quickly, strangers seemed to trust him immediately despite his shady past, the donations and the way rich people seemed to die disturbed him slightly. He loved his new life, but it was just slightly unnerving. 

A little over nine years after the fateful encounter, his wife turned pregnant and a doctor would drop by every few days. At the same time, he noticed in him signs of a fever that never seemed to go away. A pounding headache that would fade before hitting him once more when he least expected it. A coughing that worsen over months till red started to speckle his handkerchief. His doctor couldn't explain it and he even had a few clerics and arcane practitioners look him over. Eventually, he got a response; a demonic fever. A sign that a hellhound had his scent and death would take him. He became paranoid and his mind didn't leave the thought of the prize that had been agreed to. He felt like he was going mad every time he left his house, the sensation that someone was watching him never left and he thought he spotted the shape of a massive dog around a few corners. His wife tried to comfort him to no result. The doctor prescribed him a few medical herbs but he ignored them. He knew that a few herbs weren't going to save him from the sharp smiles that visited his sleep. He tried to remain positive for his few close friends, but it became a task harder and harder as the nights passed by. Then, one night, he dreamed of a massive beast. Dog-like in shape but the size of a bear, canines dripping with fresh blood and black eyes fixed on his trembling form. It pulled back its lips and growled at him, taking a bounce on him and pinning him to the ground. Two familiar shadows formed next to the monster, their faces illuminated by their grins exposing sharp teeth. Vex'halia bend down next to him and placed a clawed hand on his cheek, pinching the hairs of his beard slightly.

“Need a little help, my friend?”, her blood red lips that were once so enchanting to look at now scared him senseless. He tried to scream out or get away but his efforts were futile. She frowned and pouted her lips. “No? But you look to be in such a rough shape, my friend.” Her smile returned when her brother snickered next to her. “Don’t worry, darling, I promise you we’re nice people”, her expression turned amused and he just had time to see Vax’hildan draw out a nasty looking dagger from his belt before he awoke, screaming and sweating (and with a little pee) in his bed. He jumped from his bed and headed for his wife’s. They had to leave. They had to leave now. Or maybe only he should leave. But then he would never be able to see his child’s face…

He opened the door to leave the room but froze in place once he looked down the corridor. Leaning against the wall maybe ten meters or so from his current position, stood Vax’hildan, sharpening his black claws against the same dagger from within his dream and humming what sounded like a jovial folk tune he had heard in his youth. He felt his knees buckle under him and he felt to the floor. The demon turned his sharp grin to him and slowly made his approach, balancing the dagger on one fingertip. 

“Hey there, friend. Ready to play with me?”, it was a cruelly beautiful face and he couldn’t stop looking at it as he crawled away like a dog. He whimpered for mercy, for time, for a week, for anything. But his cries would fall on deaf ears.

His death wasn’t slow, yet no one would hear a gurgle.


	2. Wrath can't be chained for long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for any feedback you give me. I'm happy to see at least some people are pleased by my writing. Now, enjoy your rage-filled Grog! (with a little bonus cameo from another character)

This was not how the battle was supposed to end. Not like this, not with him chained up and powerless that’s what weaklings are for. He was not weak. He was a warrior! Fiercest of his tribe! Grog Strongjaw: incapable of defeat! 

And yet here he was; standing weakly in a large circular room with water to the knees and arms extended wide by metal linking him to the smooth walls. Chained and unable to break free. Had the chains only consist of material things he could’ve broken free hours ago and without a sweat. No, these chains were one of those divine things that were powered by the gods or some bullshit like that. Only his arms were actual attached but it did the job. He pulled with all his rage, flipped on himself to the point of break his arms, twisted his body in immensely uncomfortable positions. This was driving him mad. He even gnawed at his flesh to bite his hands off, but the muscles regenerated much faster than anticipated. He could not stay like this, incapable of doing anything in the slightest productive. He was a free-roamer and he needed escape.

He gave up eventually, however. Grog may not have been created smart but he understood a few things, such as the fact that he was gonna need help from an outsider to get out of his current situation. So he waited. And waited. And waited… It only occurred to him now that no one came in or out to check on him, to feed him, or mock him. In fact, there was no door at all. Not on the walls or on the ceiling, only irritatingly smooth and untouched surface surrounded him from all sides. How did he even get in here then? Why couldn’t he remember? Wait, how long had he been in here? Hours, days, years… Minutes? Usually he would judge what time it was through his hunger but strangely enough, and probably for the first time ever in his existence, Grog wasn’t hungry at all. Not even slightly.

This was too much. To take his freedom, his ability to roam and kill, his freedom of choice and movement, was hard enough to tolerate but to take away the most basic instinct within a creature, its hunger, was too disturbing, too great. He let out an impressive roar of anger, so cacophonous and ferocious that he felt the water shriek back in fear at his feet. Red filled his vision and his skin burned with a greater passion than he ever felt on the battlefield. His muscles tensed and the chains vibrated throughout the room creating a low hum that tried to make itself heard over the demon’s wrath. Arrows shot from the darkness and imbedded themselves in his chest and back, leaving a tiny tingling in his body, but he payed them no mind. He continued to roar and trash about, growling at his unseen assailants. Arrows continued their efforts, all leaving their almost unnoticed mark along his legs and torso. He pulled on the chains, gripping them with both hands, blood throbbing in his ears and white hot flames burning his eyebrows. Suddenly, an arrow embedded itself in his upper back, near where his neck starts, and the tiny tingling that he barely noticed before came in stronger. His roar subdued to a groan. His movements became slower until they turned sloppy. He let go of his grip on the chains and felt his body become heavy. He fell on both knees, slushing water and rising the level to his abdomen. His arms became numb and so did his jaw. 

He remained like this for gods know how long, emptily staring into the unmoving water with various arrows sticking from his body. He was still conscious but his body would give no signs of life. It’s only after what seemed to him like weeks that his body obeyed him once again. At first it was his toes and fingers, his jaw and neck, then his arms and finally his legs. He didn’t struggle as much as before after that. Not because he had given up, oh no, but because he got some answers, and it felt good. He might be alone most of the time, but at least his tantrum had received attention. He might not be dead, but the various arrows that pierced areas he knows are fatal tells him that he’s not living either, which in turns explains the absence of needing food. 

But there was another reason for his calm; he felt powerful. He’d felt powerful before this, like when his herd had destroyed their decades-long rivals or when he’d teared through an enemy’s arm with his bare hands, but this was different. It was a boiling energy that resonated from within his chest and made his blood pump just slightly faster. He suspected magic emanating from the room at first but he couldn’t understand why his captors would try to make him feel good after turning him into a porcupine. 

He returned to his standing position once he had control of his body again. He couldn’t walk much, maybe a grand total of five steps, but he managed to move enough to distract himself. Sloshing water and creating the ‘biggest’ waves became his favourite pastime. He’d sing some war themes that would grow in volume pretty quickly and listen for a semblance of an echo afterwards. Trying to scratch himself when he had an itch became an entertainment in itself too (though be it an uncomfortable one). 

This was boring. So fucking boring. He’d been imprisonment for how the fuck long now? He wanted attention, for shit’s sake! Anything! Another arrow while they were at it! Something! Grog felt his chest grow warmer and warmer as the anger he had been bottling up was on the edge of exploding for someone to see. He roared with a similar intensity to his first lash-out, with the veins pumping and the muscles tensing. His body felt like it would burst into flames and as he looked to his chained up arms he could indeed see red hot fire licking his flesh. Grog smiled and roared once more but louder, with more powerful and terror. He would NOT be ignored!

…but no one answered this time. No alarmed water. No magic arrows. Not even regular arrows… Just nothing. He stopped thrashing after what he assumed was about half an hour and he waited still in search for any sound that wasn’t coming from him. He waited and waited yet nothing showed itself. He roared again, but this one was tinted by desperation. He would go mad, no, he will go mad if he stayed anymore time locked up without any change. 

And he did go mad. He forgot about the past as the time passed by to the point where he barely remembered the names of his old herd members. Drowning in silence as he was, he became hyper aware to every single semblance of a noise. He’d growl lowly at the (possibly non-existent) source like the beast he had become. All he could feel at this point was wrath; not even boredom got to him anymore. Wrath at his captors for putting him in this situation, wrath at himself for not being capable of escape, wrath at the outside world for not doing anything about it… Most of the time he remained still like a statue, locked in the void of his mind and channeling the wrath he could feel growing in his chest. There were some instances however where the primal need for survival came to bullrush his thoughts and he would become a storm of a man. Thrashing, growling, roaring, piercing his own flesh at the wrists… Then, after hours or days, what little humanity remained within Grog would returned and he would go back to his trancing.

This became his only routine. Trance, fury, repeated. Statue, anger, repeated. Calm, storm, repeated. He barely remembers what freedom tastes like anymore…

He was in another “calm” phase when he felt it: small crawling sensation in his neck. He turned with lightning speed to snap at it, but nothing was there. Grog frowned, because he was sure that he had actually felt something this time. It came again, this time on his arms, and he swiftly turn to look at them. He barely had time to see a small black glow hovering before it faded. He blinked a few times in confusion; had he truly lost it this time? 

Suddenly his whole body was immersed with this black cloud. He roared out in fear at the unknown energy and started to thrash instinctively. A portal opened in front of him and about ten or so soldiers bursted into the room, some of them with bows drawn at the ready. The black energy swirled calmly a few more times around his body before swiftly going for his chains. Before Grog had time to register what was happening, or time for the soldiers to react in anyway, the cloud dissipated leaving behind simple metal chains that seemed to have been gnawed at. The whole room was still, waiting for the reappearance of the black cloud. Grog remained still too, looking forward at the newcomers. The first faces he had seen in gods know how long, and he liked what he was seeing… Fear. He smirked at their anxious faces and he let out a small snicker. Then he realized something… His arms felt heavy, more heavy than usual in fact. Grog’s expression froze and he slowly turned to the bondages on his wrists. He analyzed the damage they had taken and quickly enough Grog’s smug expression returned. He turned back to the soldiers, now looking amongst themselves silently questioning each other at what to do, and raised up to his full height with small cracking sounds as his back straighten. He rolled his shoulders to get the blood flowing and in one quick action, ripped the wrist bands from the chains. The soldiers immediately made their way back to their portal just has the cloud reformed and closed the entrance, locking them in with the now-freed beast. 

Where once resided anxious and worried faces now was the prime example of terror. Grog licked his lips and crack his knuckles once. He stood well over every single person in the room by at least three heads and he made sure that he would use every single inch he had. 

“Hello, muppets”, his voice had grown rough with misuse but that only added to the joy and wrath that would soon proceed. 

The water at his feet soon turned crimson as members flew from one side of the room to another. Growling and screams of agony filled the air that had once been stuffed with silence. He didn’t even had the pleasure to kill all of them as some drowned in their panic frenzy to escape, but he made sure that they got trampled on quite enough to become half smoothie. Once bodies littered the ground and Grog was left laughing to himself for a few moments, a cloud materialized against the wall to form a portal of its own. Grog happily marched towards it, not caring where it would take him just has long as it was away from this personal hell. 

He stepped through without an issue and soon found himself in a clearing of woods. The sky was dark with night and the grass beneath his feet was burned in a large circle. The portal closed behind him and the black energy twisted around his body once before heading towards a small figure to the edge of the clearing. Grog momentarily considered killing it before he saw the energy seep into it and the small form came forth to meet him. Beautiful female gnome, blond with bright blue eyes and covered in a dark cloak. She was holding a thick leather bound book to her side and was confidently staring into his eyes with determination.

“I have brought you forth from imprisonment, demon. Your freedom is yours if you agree to answer when I call for you aid in the future…”, she spoke with an air that dared defiance. It would’ve been adorable in any other situation, but Grog could still feel the blood in his mouth. She did this. She broke through his chains and set him free. So he did the only thing he remembered how to do, he swore allegiance. He bowed down on both knees, head low. 

“I would offer you my sword but I don’t actually have a weapon on me, but I promise you this, o’ powerful small one, I offer my life to you from here on now. Whatever your wish is is my command”, the words were sloppy and his voice was still rough, but the meaning was obvious. He didn’t regret one bit what he was getting into, and he wouldn’t from the decades to come


	3. What the shadows hide

Percival reread the letter in his hands, glasses perched at the bridge of his nose and reflecting some of the moonlight that was piercing through the window. The letter was short, just a notice paper from one of his spies that barely held more than a hundred words, but the message was quite clear. He raised his eyes to the young servant boy waiting on the other side of his desk, nervously fiddling with his hands while waiting for his reaction. He looked down again to the paper and this time he let out a small snicker, startling the boy. He raised from his chair and walked over to the window that overlooked the city of Whitestone beneath, crossing his arms behind his back in a relaxed position.

You would believe a town to be dead silent at the late hours of the night, but Whitestone was different. Half of the houses still had a light on and people walked through the streets from one building to another in frequent intervals. His younger brothers were surely amongst the crowds at that moment, maybe dragging Whitney along with them since she was the only “fun” one to drink with. 

He thought back to the content of the letter and did a quick overview of any passageways the old castle had. If the Briarwood couple and their possible companions were to indeed come pay his clan a visit then they were most likely going to attempt a sneak invasion at some point during the day. The forest surrounding their domain might also be an option… He’ll have to sent a few hunters to patrolled the woods. But of course he’ll need permission for that, and he refused to bother Father with this small affair. He turned in one swift movement towards the servant, still waiting anxiously for orders. 

“Go find Ladies Vesper and Cassandra, I require their services for the uppermost necessity. Be quick”, he spoke evenly, his face expressing no hint of emotion. The boy immediately bowed and left without a word. The heavy study door closed without a sound and Percival returned to his position by the window to think over his options. He knew little of Wildmount, the supposed region from where these ‘heroes’ were from, but he was sure the library could fix that problem for him.

A few minutes passed before his first guest entered his study. Lady Vesper of Whitestone, second to the inheritance of the de Rolo clan and his only older sister. She was wearing a high collar, dark blue dress decorated by various pearls of different colours. Around her neck rested a fine silver pendant with gold outlines representing the de Rolo crest. The one aspect that all of his siblings and himself shared was their peculiar hair colours; all were born with dark brown hair that would turn white in define locks. Percival himself had a white tussle with the only dark remains being his sideburns kept cut sharp. Vesper in her case had a half-half, the left side of her hair fully brown while the right was snow white. As the next in line after their brother Julius, she still held important positions of power within the city and all of the northern regions surrounding Whitestone; such as the title of Mistress of the Grey Hunt. She controlled all hunt-related activities so he will need her help with the patrols. She stood straight and confident yet her face expressed concern that he guessed was directed towards him.

“What’s the matter, Percy? The boy seemed quite distraught and insistent on the fact that I come now”, a small mocking smile took over her concern expression. “Or maybe you just scared the young boy yet again. You really must work on that ‘unnerving aura’ you wear like a coat these days…”

“I received news from one of my ravens”, he interrupted her before she started scolding him about his appearance like she always did. It worked; he had her full attention now and her face turned serious again.

“And what did it say? Should we inform Father?”, all she received in answer was a little scoff. 

“I don’t believe that will be necessary. Not yet, at least. I will however need your help — ”, the door to his study opened and a young woman entered.

Cassandra de Rolo, the youngest of their bunch and secretly Percival’s favourite sibling. She was dressed more comfortably than their sister but still fine enough to stand out from the peasantry. A white lace blouse under a detailed leather corset, she wore black pants and tall equestrian boots. Her hair was mostly brown with only small streaks of white. Her face was serious but as she closed the door it turned softer as she walks with a bounce towards her siblings. Both siblings nodded at her presence and Percival returned his attention to Vesper. 

“As I was saying, I’ll need your help with a little inconvenience my ravens noticed me of. A couple from Wildmount, Silas and Delilah Briarwood, have been under my suspicious gaze for a week now or so. They have been scrying the city through magical needs, prying recent guests of ours… And are now heading in our direction as we speak. I sent a raven to get information from them in their home region a few days ago and they are… let’s say ‘folk heroes’, in their native lands. So we can only assume they have no intentions of simply passing by”, as he spoke, he made his way back to his place by the window. A fight had erupted in the city square where resided the Sun Tree of Pelor, now a long dead plant, and bodies were thrown from one side of the area to another. ‘Most likely an interracial combat’, he thought as one figure was unquestionably overpowering his two combatants.

“What part do you want us to take, Percy?”, said Cassandra in her melodic voice. She was always eager to please, and he was always pleased by her eagerness. It wasn’t the first time he’d use her for one of his plans; she was the quickest, trained in assassination. He provided her with her victim and she would do as she saw fit. “Should I take them out before they even set foot into our lands?”

“No. Let them come. What could some humans,” the word felt bitter on his mouth, “… even do against us, the powerful clan of the de Rolos, leaders of the vampires of Whitestone and its northern territories for centuries. They’ll fall if they even poke at our power stance…”, Percival’s voice trailed off as anger at the thought of meager mortals creating chaos in his beloved city. Black smoke started to emanated from inside his coat sleeves and neckline as his mind started to wonder. The two woman looked at each other in worry; though Percival was the ‘silent brooding one’ within their group, he was also the most passionate as well. If something bothered him, he didn’t think twice before calling on otherworldly powers. 

“What did you call us for then?”, Vesper made sure her voice was loud and clear so her brother would be able to hear her despite his distracting thoughts. 

Percival turned back to them, the smoke fading away as he did. He shook his coat in embarrassment and adjusted his glasses.

“Where my ravens work best in cities or populated areas, your hunters are better suited in the woods and mountains. I’d like a regular patrol in the surrounding areas so as not to be surprised when the time comes to meet with them. And yes, I want to meet the Briarwoods, not just kill them. I want to play with them before destroying what I leave behind. Cassandra, you know best the secret passageways within the castle. Do whatever you must. And inform the city guards to keep a look out for a couple fitting their descriptions, while you’re at it”, his voice was even and commanding, but he knew he held no real power over his two sisters. They’d follow his instructions because he was a strategist, and a good one at that, but they’d ignored his orders if anyone of superior stance were to demand otherwise of them, like Julius or Mother, but especially Father.

They talked about the little details and brought up some issues they might face. They made sure that the Briarwood complication would remain between the children of the de Rolo clan. It wasn’t long before they nodded in final agreement and broke away to their respective responsibilities. 

Percival returned to his armchair and took out the letter once more to made sure he hadn’t miss anything. He smirked to himself after reread the confirmation of their imminent journey to their city of Whitestone. By keeping them to himself, he was actually doing them a favour; he’d be saving them from all the brutes that lingered in the shadows of the alleyways and the terrible food. He snickered at the thought when his attention was robbed by a joyous cry from a crowd outside. The town was quite a ways away from the castle itself, but in the silence of his study and Percy’s sharp hearing, rare were the things that escaped him. Maybe he’d join them tonight… He was in a good mood. Plus, he was starving. 

He smiled at the idea of a fresh kill and immediately jumped on his feet. He walked towards his window and opened it slightly. He closed his eyes and in an instant his whole body turned into a smoking figure with the only defined feature to be a large raven beak and glowing pupil-less eyes. He took off into the night with a gentle glide and he started his search for a late midnight snack to satisfied his need.


	4. Death does not know Mercy

The two children were chasing one another with smile illuminating their faces. Dusk was settling in and the air was becoming fresher as the sun said its last goodbyes. They ran without a care for the state of their clothes, now muddied at the knees and the bottom of their trousers. Eventually they agreed on a short rest and they laid down on their backs to survey the newly arrived stars in the sky. They talked about things without meaning and slowly they felt sleep coming upon them. They hesitated whether or not to return to their small house barely a hundred meters or so away but the instructions had been clear: they were not to enter the house until somebody comes to get them. That had been two hours ago, and no one had come out yet. 

“Do… do you think Mama’s okay?”, the child was still looking at the small wooden structure, toying with his dirtied shirt absentmindedly.

“I’m sure she will be. Papa always said she was the strongest! Did he tell you about the time they faced a dragon and Mama cut its head right off?”, the second boy tried to be distracting, and it worked as soon enough he counted the tale of the fateful fight between their parents and the giant black entity. 

Halfway through the story, both children were sleepy enough to trade the story for the comfort of unconsciousness. Night had settled and the small noises of nature took over the field. Crickets chirped around the two bodies and the wind blew gently, both uniting to form a soothing lullaby. The nearby forest joined in the chorus, letting the wind tussle the leaves that had started to turn orange due to the approaching autumn. It was a peaceful moment, but it soon would be disturbed.

A tall and delicate half-elven female form wielding a staff emerged from the cover of the trees. Her hair a long cascade of red decorated by a head piece composed of various items. At the center of it rested a small skull that seemed to be a mix of some sort of rodent and a bird. She wore simple clothes of dark greens and black, creating a sharp contrast again her hair. Her large, completely black eyes investigated the scene before her, in search of her target. Quickly enough she spotted the small house in the distance with a faint light emanating from the windows. She marched over in a beeline towards it, only momentarily pausing as she took notice of the two young bodies on the floor. Intrigued, she waved a hand in their general direction and a small energy spark grew from her palm. She blew on it and it floated over the bodies in a quick inspection. It flew back to her and the woman crushed the spark between her fingers. Nothing of importance; the life force of the children was not to be messed with. She drew back her attention to the house and continued her walk over. By now, the lullaby had stopped. The whole of nature terrified into obedience as the newcomer passed by. 

Meanwhile, over in the small cottage, a small group of four individuals were running back and forth in mild panic. On the table laid a human female form, maybe in her mid-thirties, weakly gasping for air. She was trying to call out to her husband who was furiously flipping through his spell book at her feet. One of the individuals, a female bronze dragonborn, immediately rushed over and took one of her friend’s hand.

“It’s alright, Elera, we’ll find a cure. Trust us once more, my friend…”, the dragonborn looked over the weak body and, to her disarray, realized that the black marks that had been progressing along her body had now reach her throat. She swallowed back a whimper, looked down again at Elera’s face, and let go of her hand to continue her search for the right herbs. At that moment, the wizard stood straight suddenly.

“I think I got it! Berran, go find my wooden wand in the bedroom quickly!”, the dwarven fellow nodded and exited. “Meenor, go in the cellar and find a silver chalice and some rubies. They should be in a large chest covered by a cloth”, an elder-looking elven man took off running in an adjacent room. 

The female dragonborn abandoned her herbs and stood next to the ill woman whose eyes seemed to focus for a second before fading and concentrating again. She looked over to her arcane friend and took his hand reassuringly. He glanced over at her with a look of worry beyond anything she had seen before. She smiled as best she could. Their two friends came rushing back with the materials necessary and laid them on the table before turning expectantly. The wizard looked over his friends’ faces one at a time for comfort before starting the ritual. The three other observants watched with anxious eyes for any change in their friend’s state. 

He was not gonna say goodbye to his wife like that. She had saved them so many time before and now had come the time for him to return the favour. He closed his eyes and repeated over the words, silently praying for Elera’s return to his side. Barely a few seconds passed before the black markings seemed to boil off the body, leaving in little puffs of black. The companions let out little exclamations of joy and breaths of relief as colour returned to her face.

At that moment, the front door opened wide and in stepped the half-elven woman, her black eyes immediately focusing on the small gathering at the table. Meenor, the elven man, barely had time to notice her before a shock wave blasted his form and all other standing members away from Elera’s body. The half-elven woman continued her walk over the weak woman who was trying to understand what had happened. She stopped next to the table and created another shock wave, blasting to the ground the four individuals once again. Elera looked above at the black eyes now in view and tried to speak but a hand covered her mouth forcefully before she could utter a word. The newcomer raised her free hand and gestured over the body, creating small sparks of energy that floated in inspection in a similar fashion to earlier with the children. They turned black and returned to the woman’s palm. She gestured once more but this time black vine-like energy formed and latched on to the remnants of the black marks that had covered her throat and chest. A hissing sound resonated in all of their ears as the black markings crawled back to their previous positions. Elera screamed out in pain as her newly regenerated wounds sliced open in atrocious speed.

“NO!”, screamed her husband from the floor. He quickly stood again but dark vines sprout from in between the floor boards and latched themselves onto him and the others, maintaining them at ground level. 

All members started to furiously attack the plants grappling them. The screams from Elera faded into muffled sound as the half-elf pressed her hand more forcefully against her lower jaw. The individuals were trying their best at cutting away yet once they broke free from one vine another replaced it within milliseconds. Everyone was fighting, everyone but Meenor. He was frozen stunned at the spectacle before him and watching with horror the new woman torturing his friend. He shook his head and looked around in confusion and terror at his old traveling companions.

“She’s an Ashari! We have to stop her, she’s an Ashari!”, he screamed with all of his might and in one swift movement grabbed with one hand his holy symbol around his neck. A blast of divine energy burned away the vines holding him and he rushed to his feet to tackle the half-elf. She raised a hand in his direction but before she could tried something new the elven man pushed her to the floor. She growled in pain and pushed the elder off herself but maintained a hand on his chest. She grimaced at him and a dark energy formed from her fingers that travelled into him. It was his turn to howl in pain as a piercing feeling attacked him from within and he could feel his own life force draining.  
Not concentrating on her vines anymore, the other members quickly hacked away at the plants. The dwarf and dragonborn rushed at the rescue of their attacked friend while the wizard ran over the body of his wife. The dragonborn tried to claw at the intruder’s face but, light as air, she jumped back, narrowly avoiding the attack. Berran took a stance in between the table and the Ashari and the dragonborn followed his lead, both standing at the ready for any attempt at reaching their friends. 

Silence took over the room as no one moved.

Then a small sob that soon changed into a whimpering and full crying. Everyone turned their attention back to the table where now rested Elera, unmoving and with opened eyes staring at the chest of her crying husband. 

“No…”, the dragonborn fell to her knees and tears of her own started to run down her cheeks. Her dwarven friend advanced slowly towards the table and placed his hand atop the cold, lifeless one of his friend. Now that her eyes had been casted downwards, the dragonborn also noticed the body of Meenor, unmoving as well. She crawled to him and cried louder as she found herself unable to find a heartbeat. She rested her head on his chest and gripped his arm with one hand while the other held onto his holy symbol. 

All had almost forgotten about the intruder as she stepped back towards the way she came.

“My work here is done”, she said with a low, emotionless voice.

None tried to stop her. They had all heard of the Ashari people. The seclusive clan of druids devoted to maintaining the natural flow of things… which included death. They travelled the land to stop any attempts at interrupting fate, no matter the impact. Any endeavour at revivifying or undo the inevitable was severely punishable in their minds. They had tried anyways, and had lost more than before as punishment.

Keyleth walked silently through the fields once more to reach the forest where would be waiting three of her fellow Ashari members. On the way, she crossed the children and stopped briefly next to them. She bent down and grew two cypress flowers from the ground and left them next to them. She stood up and walked forward, not looking back. This was what she was born to do. 

This is why she would finish her Ara’mente, she told herself. Because idiots like them tried to defy the natural elements, and when she did finish her Ara’mente, she will become the most feared Queen of all. She’ll have pity for no warrior, no mother, not even a child…


	5. Heart be wary

The pub was bright and joyous as people formed circles on the opened dance floor and danced their hearts out. Laughter bursted from one side of the room to the other, it was no place for sadness or worry. Drinks spilled everywhere, let that be on the floor or the tables or even the ceiling for that matter. The waitresses and waiters made their way with impressive agility between tables with large racks of food, smiles on their faces nonetheless. A small group of musicians stood in one corner on an elevated platform, playing folk tunes at the public’s requests and dance songs to keep the energy going. The kitchens were also full of energy, cooking at lightning speed while taping their toes to the music on the other side. 

The music elevated in high notes before dropping suddenly in one light swoop, ending effectively the song. The musicians bowed in respect and the crowd cheered and clapped. Some waiters on their breaks or awaiting food orders clapped along with a smile. Three such waitresses that were leaning on the wall adjacent to the kitchen were watching the musicians with small giggles to one another. One of them, a young red-haired human, was just recovering from a small fit of laughter before turning to her friends.

“Okay! Okay! I’ll go talk to the drummer if you…”, she pointed to her half-elven friend. “…go talk to the singer”, she ended her sentence with a little lift to her chin and a raised eyebrow, as if she knew the dare would create a heated reaction. And she was right.

“What! Are you kidding me!? At least the drummer will look at you if you approach him, you’re pretty! I look like a mess right now because of the heat…”, she pouted and pointed to her puffed out dirty blond hair. “And besides, he’s a full elf! Who says he isn’t a high born and will think me disgusting for being a half-blood…”, she looked over at the singer with a miserable look and let out a small sigh.

“Your hair doesn’t look half as bad as you say. Giselle might be pretty but you’re cute. Men like that, right?”, added her gnome friend, sitting on one of the ale barrels. “And if he was the stick-up-the-ass you think he might be then do you really think he’d be performing in a tavern like this one?” She leaned forward and added with a conspiracy tone; “… And moving his hips like that?”

“ALIA!”, exclaimed her friends with surprised looks before laughing once more. 

At last, they agreed that Giselle would help their friend’s ‘problem’ with a little quick hair up-do and that they’d both approach their respective targets once the musicians went on their next break. They tried to convince Alia to join them and find her a potential flirt within the troop but none interested her. They reluctantly let her have it and both girls tried to slip unnoticed to the bathroom in the back of the establishment while Alia stood watch at her same position. 

About two minutes passed when a newcomer entered the pub. It wasn’t something out of the ordinary since people moved in and out of the building fairly often but the new customer stood out by the fact that he was a gnome. Gnomes rarely passed by here and so the entrance of one besides her family surprised her. Handsome, he had short cut jet black hair and pale blue eyes that caught the attention of some of the patrons already seated. He wore a simple traveling cloak that covered his entire body but that would occasionally move to uncover deep purple clothes that could only come from someone with a heavy purse. He looked about in the pub before turning his attention to the band of musicians. His tired face turned into a rejuvenated one as a bright smile took over. He was approached by a waiter but he declined whatever offer was made with a charming smile and a little wave and started to make his way to the stage. The song finished and when clapping took over the air, the gnome started to converse with the elven singer. The musicians talked for a few seconds amongst themselves before shrugging and smiling at him, waving him on stage with them. He intrigued Alia and she simply couldn’t keep her eyes off him. He probably felt her stare since, as he pulled out an elegant silver flute from his traveling bag, he lift his gaze and locked eyes with her from the distance. She didn’t dare moved and she found herself looking back with wide eyes and a rapidly growing blush at her cheeks. He smiled at her and winked before turning his attention back to his temporary band members. Alia could feel her heartbeat through her ears and her blush grew even larger as she realized that she’d caught the attention of a handsome gnome… And he’d winked at her. Bastard, she thought. 

Her friends came back shortly afterwards giggling to themselves and found a very perturbed-looking Alia meddling with her short brown hair and trying at all costs not to look at the musicians, who had just started their new song but this time accompanied by a gentle flute. 

“Hey, would you look at that? When did they add a flute player?”, Giselle asked. Both girls turned to their gnomish friend for answers but she was still looking away from the stage, trying to avoid the blue stare she could still feel within her mind. “You alright there, Alia?”

“I’m fine”, she cringed a little when she heard her voice turn an octave higher than usual. There was a moment of pause where she didn’t see her friends share a knowledgable look and nod in agreement with little devilish smiles. 

“You know he’s actually pretty handsome, that flute player”, said the half-elf. “Of course not as handsome as the singer but with a drink I’d definitely invite him over. What do you think, Alia?”

All she received was a small grunt as an answer. She dared look over at the stage and surely enough the gnome was looking in her direction while still masterfully performing. When they locked eyes once more, he smiled charmingly at her and did a little dance move. She bit her lip so she wouldn’t smile or laugh at his antics. Her friends of course saw the little exchange and pressed on their efforts.

“Did you see that little dance? And while playing the flute, at that. Let’s you wonder what other things he might be good multitasking at…”, added Giselle in a stage-whisper manner. Alia only busied herself by watching the crowd intensely so she wouldn’t start wondering herself.

“Oh gods above, Giselle! I think he winked at me!”, lied the half-elf in a dramatic exclamation. Unfortunately for Alia however, she didn’t notice the lie-aspect to the statement.

“He did what?”, she hissed in indignation as she swirled her attention to find the culprit on stage. Still looking in her direction, he wiggled his eyebrows impressively and winked again. She felt her cheeks turn red again but this time in anger and embarrassment. Her friends, who at this point couldn’t hold up their charades, bursted into laughter. Alia looked to them and her cheeks turned even redder as she realized she was being messed with. She made as if to walk away but the two woman blocked her escape and started to apologized. 

“Come on, Alia! He totally got the hots for you! And it’s not as fun to go at guys if only two of us do it and one doesn’t…”

“You basically already have him on a hook. And what are the chances that you find another gnome in this dump in months, let alone one that’s as attractive”

Alia listened to their talking but refused to look at them. She wasn’t gonna lie, she was extremely interested but she was just used to being the one doing the chasing instead of being the one chased. It felt weird to be on the receiving end of flirtatious advances. And usually she knew that her words wouldn’t get her anywhere, that they’d be harmless, but she couldn’t help but feel like it wouldn’t be the case with this charming flute player. Her friends’ insistent rambling was overpowered by the erupted cheering from the crowd as the song ended. The singer announced something before more cheering and finally conversation picked up again. Alia returned her attention back to Giselle that was now listing the numbers of close calls the gnome had denied recently for various reasons.

“And what was wrong with that dwarf guy two weeks ago! He seemed like a nice fellow! But instead you just watched him walk away with nothing to take home with!”, she exclaimed with a little final sigh.

“Whatever”, Alia finally said. “I’m sure the cooks got some work for me to do anyways! I’ll just helped them there and lock myself in”

“Well then I’ll make sure the kitchens close for the night to prevent my plans for the evening to go to waste like that…”, answered a smooth voice from besides her. 

Leaning on the nearest table stood the flutist, arms crossed and with a small smirk playing along his lips. Alia couldn’t stop herself from thinking he looked even more attractive from up-close. She turned to her friends with a desperate look but found the space empty. Damn these girls… She swallowed her fear and turned to the gnome with a condescending air.

“Well, you’ll excuse me then for seriously doubting your capabilities to pull that off”

“There’s nothing a few coins and a charming smile can’t accomplish”, he retorted. “But add to that the reward of spending time with a beautiful and charming girl and a man will stop at nothing to get the task done”

Alia blushed a little more and she reluctantly admitted to herself that he was smooth. She jumped from her barrel and extended a hand.

“Let’s at least introduce ourselves if the evening will indeed continue in this fashion… I’m Alia”, he took her hand and pressed her knuckles to his lips. He didn’t let go of her hand, instead bringing it close to his chest, making her stumble forward slightly.

“Scanlan, my lady, at your service…”, he looked at her with an intensity she hadn’t seen before and she blushed once more. 

The evening progressed smoothly afterwards. Scanlan was something of a mix of a gentleman, a typical bad-boy, and a simple buffon. He inquired about her past while sharing a bit of his, he bought her some food and a drink after getting her the evening off from her duties. He was a charming snake, Alia understood that, but she couldn’t help but believe every single word he told her. She believed him when he told her she was beautiful. She believed him when he told her he was truly just a traveling flute player. She believed him when he told her that he hadn’t been able to find a good bed in weeks. And she believed him when he told her that he’d make her feel like the woman she is tonight…

It’d been a few years since Alia last had sex with someone, but she didn’t feel an ounce of fear when she start to undress Scanlan in her dark bedroom. He worked through her clothes quickly as well and soon both beings were naked and kissing on the beddings. He kissed her everywhere that night, and she payed him back with her mouth as well. When both had finished and remained holding on to one another, Alia smiled softly to herself in peace and giddiness. They stayed in silence, none of them talking but she liked it that way. 

Scanlan rose quietly from his position and she immediately worried that he’d leave her alone, but he was simply readjusting himself so he’d be hovering over her, pinning her between his arms. He bent his neck down so he kissed her collarbone and slowly make his way down to her belly. He grabbed on to her hands, gently caressing her wrists, as he lovingly bit down on her hip bone. He continued like this for a few moments, with increasing harshness, before Alia inhaled sharply at a piercing feeling at her breasts. She looked down to reprimand her partner but froze at the sight. Scanlan was looking back at her with his blue eyes harden, with no more affection to them, and with a small trickle of blood spilling over his lips which he quickly wiped away with his tongue. 

“S-scanlan?”, she said with nervousness quickly taking over her mind. He didn’t respond.

Instead, he bit down again with more ferocity and Alia screamed out in pain. He moved with unnatural speed to cover her mouth with one hand and when she tried to move her arms found that they were locked in place by some unseen force. Panic took over her mind as she tried to kick him off her but to no results. Scanlan dug sharpen teeth into her collarbone, into her breasts, into her stomach… A small pool of blood started to soak the previously white sheets. In one final merciful blow, he reached into the small stomach opening his teeth had formed and thrusted upwards past her ribcage. Swiftly he retracted back his bloodied hand to pull out with it the young woman’s heart along. The body under him fell limped and the pool of pool rapidly increased around them. 

Scanlan stood in silence for a moment, breathing heavily, before he approached his lips to the heart and kissed it gently. 

“Thank you for the evening, Alia. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did…”, he whispered to it before biting down with hunger. 

He didn’t wait till morning to leave town. He was washed and fully clothed within two hours and far gone not long after. Once the sun raised above the horizon, he changed his appearance back to his preferred look; that of medium length brown hair tied back into a short pony tail and dark eyes. He still looked pretty damn handsome according to him (and a few ladies) but remained quite simple in general. The life of a youth-sucking skinwalker wasn’t easy but it definitely had its perks, one of them being of course a grand wardrobe option.


	6. Light cannot be without the Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the very long delay for this chapter. This will be the last one for this series but if I get some request I have some ideas about bonus chapters including a Pike-Scanlan chapter or other cross-overs. Let me know if these interest you and I hope you enjoyed my drabbles

Pike hadn’t understood why Grandpa Wilhand didn’t give her his gift in front of the others like everyone else did, but it didn’t take too long before she eventually did. A dark leather bound book with strange carvings covering it, the pages old and yellowed. He warned her to be careful with the knowledge she’ll gained from it and to keep its existence a secret from the rest of their family. She accepted the gift and responsibilities surrounding it when she was barely in her teenage years — and from there on she became a new person.

She learned the arts of the forbidden magic by herself every nights in her bedroom. She made sure to learn a few cantrips of simple arcane as well to justify her newfound sensitivity to magic. She became more enthralled with every page she turned, and more powerful with every chapter. When she felt safe enough, she’d practice on various subjects, alive or dead. Necromancy, however, became her passion. Making a corpse talk to her or animating the dead limb of an fallen animal. 

She would visit Wilhand regularly but not enough to raise suspicions for her well-being. After being caught practicing forbidden magic, the family of Trickfoot kept him at a distance from them and only allowed him to visit them on special occasions. They’d preferred not to banish him as the teachings of their patron goddess Sarenrae encouraged a second chance. His home rested a short distance away from the village and so Pike would need a specific excuse to visit him whenever she did. This circumstance actually ended up benefiting her into developing a quick mind and a silver-tongue. Wilhand adored her more and more as the years passed and her powers grew. In the later years of their collaboration, they would grow bold and meet up in the woods to perform rituals. 

But all good things must come to an end, and so one day Pike returned to her house after a day at the market to find her family waiting with crossed arms in the kitchen… With a dark leather bound book laying opened on the table. 

Her family weren’t idiots; they understood that Wilhand was the reason behind this book. After burning the book in front of him and Pike, they banished him for good this time and tried to make the young gnome promise to stop necromancy. She refused, and the next day she was on the road with nothing but her great-great-grandfather and a small bag containing both of their belongings and a secret copy of her previous tome that she herself wrote with personal notes. 

They eventually found a far away village where news of the Trickfoots wouldn’t intervene with any new plan of theirs. They built their own small house close to the nearby population and together they studied the dark arcane secrets that awaited them, this time without having to hold back. As a cover and as a way to gain money, Pike would visit the village and combine the medicine knowledge she gained from her Sarenrae teachings with the hold on diseases she now had to cure the sick and ill while Wilhand made shoes of various sizes upon demand. Though it wasn’t a particularly easy life, it was definitely the happiest that both had ever been.

But it wasn’t enough. They couldn’t shake the constant feeling of humiliation at being the ones who bent the knee when they could’ve easily overpowered their oppressors. So they plotted for a way to turn back the favour, to come back and show them how illogical it was to suppress and banish the true masters of life. They would tear down all of their shrine and temples that was blocking their view and closing off their minds. They wouldn’t be content until all of them bend the knee while watching their precious Sarenrae burn… But they didn’t feel ready yet; they were missing something, something that would definitely break their enemies and until they found it, they weren’t willing to mobilize just yet. Something like this would require years of planning…

Unfortunately for them, time wasn’t something that was undoubtedly on their side. As the years passed, old Wilhand started to feel his age catch up to him, and soon enough it became a task in itself to travel to the nearby town for simple necessities. They reluctantly came to the conclusion that he would be unable to keep up a charade in society and so Pike became the front man of their duo. As she worked tirelessly by day to earn a living, Wilhand rummaged through books and other means to find what they were looking for in their little house. It took some time (and many paper cuts) but eventually they found their answer…

It talked of an ancient war between clans of giants and demons against magically gifted human-like tribes from another realm. The individuals living in such plane lived in constant warfare and chaos, where the weak did not belong. Once, many millennia ago, a great battle erupted where both sides suffered immensely, but the human-like army succeeded in capturing and imprisoning the leaders of their enemies. As treatment, these captured war demons were said to be kept eternally chained to suffer in isolation till their sanity is lost. Some are said to still be suffering to this day. To free such a being from its isolation… To have a killing demon at their sides and in their debt… It was a perfect scenario.

It took them about three months to complete the necessary research and gather up the materials for the ritual. They settled a date and area… and now waited. Pike had difficulty going along her familiar routine to the market and pretend like one of the most important moment in her life was not about the take place in the coming days. She was giddy with joy, but she shivered at the possibility of failure. Wilhand offered support of course, but her mind couldn’t keep still.

Then the time came. There would be no moon in the sky and a light breeze travelled through her opened window. Pike looked at herself in the mirror and sighed yet again. She wore her black ritual robes with the carvings of necromancy on them that Wilhand had sown himself as a gift for her 18th birthday. She pulled the heavy hood up and bent down to blow out her candle, picked up her grimoire and walked outside to meet her elder waiting for her by the door. He kissed her cheek and patted her shoulders reassuringly. He wasn’t wearing his ritualistic cloaks and she eyed him curiously. He simply shook his head and smiled up at her. He wouldn’t be coming along… Pike couldn’t hide the sadness in her expression but he quickly wished her ‘good luck’ and sent her on her way. 

The walk to the clearing felt like miles away but eventually she reached the small area in the woods. She didn’t take time to admire the beautiful scenery of the blackened sky; she took out the materials needed: the live offering, in this case a crow attached to a rabbit, and candles of various colours and adorning carvings. She then took a few steps back into the cover of the trees and opened her large book to the desired incantation. She closed her eyes, breathed in once, exhaled, opened her eyes, looked to the skies, looked down to the pages, and started reading…

The wind picked up as she uttered the first words and the flames shined brighter than before. A gradual hissing sounds made its way through the branches and seemed to accumulate near the ritual site. Pike started to feel her body weaken with each passing seconds, her knees threatening to buckle under her, but she remained solid in her stance, unwilling to lose an inkling of confidence. Her endurance soon gave fruit as suddenly she felt her mind split and transport itself to another place. 

It was dark here, cold yet humid. The walls stretched high upwards and the ground was covered in an incredibly still pool of water. And in the middle of it all rested a large humanoid beast, wrists tied with heavy-looking chains in an outstretched position to the smooth walls. He didn’t seem to react to her presence and so she slid forward in her spectral-shadowy form to his binding. Divine magic surrounded them, enforcing them where not even a primordial titan could break free. She could weaken them for him, with hopes that he’ll be strong enough to fight the guardians that are bound to come charging in once the magic link is broken. 

By now the monstrous man had noticed her and was futilely trying to make room between them. He growled at her smoking figure but stopped once he concluded she wasn’t a threat. She paid him no mind, trying to understand instead the mechanism behind the slowly vibrating chains. He watched her curiously, with no hint of fear what so ever in his being. She was probably the first thing he saw in centuries that was remotely interesting. Eventually she found a weak spot; the runic engraving itself in the bracers would pump the energy every minute or so almost unnoticeably, leaving only a second the enchantment without protection. But it would be enough. She waited until the time came once more and prepared her energy, ready to engulf the whole demon-man along with the chain. She waited, and waited, until finally the slight pump was felt and she released her torrent. It barely lasted two seconds but by the time they passed her shadow form had fallen back and the chains rested buried in the water floor. 

Pike felt the world shift slightly around her and her mind go dark. She felt dizzy… The breaking of the enchantment had taken more out of her mojo then she had anticipated. Before she could shake herself awake, she had just enough time to see a small portal open with armed men entering before her vision faded and she returned to her former body. She crumpled to her knees and swiped the sweat from her brow, breathing heavily. No, it was too soon… She needed to return to him, or else this could’ve all been for nothing. She tried twice to return, succeeding to stay long enough to close the portal made by the guardians before being forcibly returned to the Material Plane on the second try. On the third try, she angrily forced herself to attention and managed to fully return to the distant plane. By that time however, the Wrath Demon had finished off the few remaining men. She circled the carnage with a sick pleasure, imagining the bodies of gnomes instead of armoured soldiers. This one with blue eyes would be her neighbour Carla, and that one with the badly shaved beard would be her uncle Ferment… The demon watched her distractedly with a bloodlust still apparent in his gaze, colouring his thoughts with red and white. Her form floated back to the wall opposite where the previous portal had been opened and she created a door of her own. She motioned as best she could to the giant goliath to follow and she returned (willingly this time) to her crumpled body resting in the forest lining. 

She watched him enter a few seconds after her with contempt. She’d done it! They would finally be able to move to the next stage now. After composing herself, she walked into the moonlight. She stood well below the waist of the entity, but she would not be intimidated. Clutching Wilhand’s grimoire in one hand, she looked straight into the being’s unmoving eyes.

“I have brought you forth from imprisonment, demon. Your freedom is yours if you agree to answer when I call for your aid in the future…”, if he agreed, she didn’t know if she’d be able to contain her cool expression.

A moment of silence passed as the demon analyzed her from head to toe, amused at first but quickly changing to become serious again. At last, he bowed down before her. Her heart fluttered and a smile overwhelmed her face almost immediately. Almost unnoticeably, even to her own ears, she murmured as a great grin spread across her cheeks.

“Pike’s coming home, bitches”


End file.
